


Settled Dust

by starslinger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starslinger/pseuds/starslinger
Summary: Bellatrix teaches Hermione a difficult lesson.Set directly after the 6th chapter of "Spinning Dust in an Untidy Dark" by Zarrene Moss.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Settled Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spinning Dust in an Untidy Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870507) by [Zarrene Moss (Menzosarres)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menzosarres/pseuds/Zarrene%20Moss). 



She didn’t know how long it had been, only that the last of sunset’s orange glow had faded, and the breath at her neck had been steady for some time.

Shifting a bit on the floor, wincing at the mild pain that sprung up her spine, she adjusted the woman in her arms, cupping the back of her head so she could tilt her back, slowly revealing her face from where it had been buried against Bella’s skin.

The poor thing. Even in sleep she looked exhausted, dark circles rimming her puffy eyelids, the rosiness not yet returned to her tear-stained cheeks. Bella drew the backs of her fingers down the side of her face, tracing over where the ugly bruising had been. Anger flared freshly in her chest, though the physical reminder had disappeared. There didn’t seem to be any lingering sensitivity either, because Hermione did not stir. Even when Bella reached out with her magic, there was no response — the girl had pushed herself far beyond her limits, and her magic was so weak, flickering embers in an empty hearth. For that, Bella had no healing; there was no substitute for time and rest.

Unless…hm. Perhaps there was another way.

She gathered Hermione properly into her arms again, casting a silent Featherweight charm so she could stand easily without having to part from her. She had carried the little witch to bed more than once before, often without magic, but rising straight up from the ground was difficult enough without carrying another person. She calmed the sting of irritation at her own age by reminding herself, with a smirk, that Hermione had never been able to carry her at all.

As she carried Hermione up the stairs, the horrid cat wound itself about her ankles, chattering nonstop, probably accusing her of murdering its mistress. “If you make me drop her, you’ll regret it,” she hissed at the creature, who growled in return. They had reached something of a détente, but if not for how much it meant to Hermione, she’d have made it disappear long ago.

The doors to their bedroom swung open with her approach, and she gently set Hermione down on the bed, lifting the charm so she could sink fully down into the soft sheets. Bella set to work undressing her — the little fool still had her shoes and coat on — while the cat leapt on the bed and circled Hermione’s head, inspecting her closely. Bellatrix was about to shoo him away, but the girl remained fully unconscious, and the orange monstrosity soon curled up at her side, satisfied that his mistress still drew breath.

Once she’d removed her outerwear, she spelled the rest of their clothes away. The fabric melted off their bodies and rematerialized on the floor. Hermione used this spell too, and always finished with a flourishing touch that would fold them and put them in the chest of drawers. Bellatrix had little interest in such magic.

The chill of the air finally made the girl stir, and Bellatrix quickly climbed into bed, drawing the covers over them both. The moment she pressed into the mattress Hermione rolled towards her, instinctively seeking out her warmth. Bella gathered her into her arms once more, letting her burrow into her chest. She ran one hand through her hair, another across the smooth plane of her back. Each time she kneaded that spot at the small of her back she knew Hermione loved, she was rewarded with a happy little twitch and a sleepy sigh. She had fun teasing the reflex out of her a few times, feeling the body against her relax, impossibly, even more.

Now for the tricky bit. They played in each other’s magic so often they practically lived in it, but it was easier when they were both conscious. Not that Bella hadn’t tried. Hermione slept much sounder than she did, and so Bella had spent many restless nights trying to watch her dream. It was only ever fleeting scenes — muffled sounds, faceless people, out of focus landscapes. She supposed there were things they could do to get better at that, but she wasn’t certain Hermione would appreciate the knowledge that Bella had been peeking without permission.

This, however, was different. Bellatrix shut her eyes, matched her breathing with Hermione’s, and reached out.

* * * 

It was a bit easier than the dreaming, since she knew what she was looking for. She sought out Hermione’s magic, the essence that had manifested itself as the little coffee shop she’d visited many times before, and, though it took a little longer than usual, she soon found herself there, standing in the center as if she’d always been there, would always be there, belonged nowhere else.

Instantly, she knew something was wrong. The magic embraced her as usual, warm and welcoming like Hermione’s arms around her in the early morning. But the lights were off, the surfaces covered in a layer of dust, a few books scattered across the floor. The little felines that usually prowled about nowhere to be found. Nothing seemed to be broken, nothing irreparable — just little tweaks that Bella, perhaps, could fix.

She began to move about the shop, accounting for anything out of place. Hermione’s magic knew her, trusted her, making the very air around her soft and malleable. She’d been to this space so many times before that she could interact with it — a dangerous thing, a rare thing, as she and Hermione well knew. They both knew what it was to take magic now, she thought, idly fingering a vine that sprouted forth from the walls of the shop. It was evidence of their magic being intertwined; the counterpart to Hermione’s little flowers sown through the internal garden that was Bella’s magic.

But of course, she remembered bitterly, Hermione still did not know what it was to lose her own.

Shaking her head, she tried to toss that idea out of her head — but it was an ugly, thorny thought, and so, as always, it stuck, prickling still in the back of her mind.

No, she wasn’t here to thieve her lover’s magic, but to restore it. It was easy enough to start: she dusted off the shelves, reset the fallen books, and set about searching for the fuse box (begrudgingly grateful, in hindsight, that Hermione had shown her how to use one). At one point the thought struck her, half-amusing and half-irritating, that somehow, in the thick of this spectacular, intimate, unthinkable magic, she’d been reduced to a Muggle doing chores.

Before too long she’d managed to switch the lights back on. She gave a startled jump when several other muggle appliances whirred back to life as well, including the old record player in the corner, crooning out a song from some French woman she vaguely remembered Hermione playing for her before.

The magic had shifted now, not entirely recovered, but humming happily around her, like some part of Hermione was finally waking up.

Satisfied with her work, she was about to leave when one last thing caught her eye — a dish turned over on the floor. Nudging it with her foot, she rolled her eyes to see a bit of cat food clinging to the bottom. With a huff, she rummaged through the cabinets until she found something that looked vaguely like the containers for the slop Hermione left for Crookshanks. She tore it open and dumped it into the dish, grimacing as it landed with a sickening _plop._ Immediately, she heard a soft noise, and turned to see two cats poking their heads round the corner. They trotted towards her happily, purring as they nuzzled her ankles, her face twitching unwillingly into a smile. She supposed this lot was a bit better than the one at home.

With a final affectionate scratch behind each of their ears, she straightened her spine, reached back out, let herself dissolve, and came back to herself in the physical world.

By now the sun had nearly risen, the room bathed in a ghostly blue dawn. They were still wrapped around each other, and Hermione, she noted with a spark of self-satisfaction, already looked much better. Her skin had begun to glow again, the bags under her eyes nearly vanished.

She was moving, too, hooking a leg around Bella’s and — _oh._

Hermione was nearly _writhing_ against her, pressing the heat of her lower body into Bella’s. Bellatrix withdrew her hands from Hermione’s back, hovering in midair, caught off guard and utterly confused. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t intended to do anything but heal her magic, hadn’t sought out her… _desire_. Had she —?

“Bella,” Hermione murmured into her throat, voice hoarse with disuse. “Bella, Bella. My Bella.”

Something shot through her then — certainly _not_ what Hermione had confessed to feeling earlier; not that, it could never be that, not from someone like Bellatrix. But _something_ sharp and sweet and warm all at once bled into her, infecting her heart and bursting forth like spores throughout her whole body.

Bella let her hands fall back to her body and flipped Hermione over onto her back, studying her face intently. She still had not opened her eyes, but settled happily into the new position, arching up her back, doing anything to get closer. Bellatrix was at a complete loss for words, stunned — not unpleasantly — by this development, and slowly she let the hunger overtake her. She sank down fully against Hermione, pressing them both further into the mattress, nudging up her chin and biting gently beneath her jaw. A breathless little whine left Hermione’s throat as Bellatrix began to suckle, sliding her hands to Hermione’s backside and lifting her up against her.

Normally by now, Hermione would have threaded her fingers into Bella’s hair, would have made more pretty noises, might have spoken. Bellatrix released her throat from between her teeth and peered up into her face. Eyes still closed, lips slightly parted. How unusual.

With another squeeze to the flesh trapped in her hands, she peppered kisses up the column of her neck til she could husk into her ear: “Are you awake, pet?”

Hermione shivered at her breath and mumbled a little, but no response.

Bellatrix gently nipped a pink bottom lip, then sucked it between her own. She rubbed her cheek against Hermione’s, and thought fondly again of the cats in the coffee shop. The girl’s magic was bubbling beneath the surface, not anywhere near full strength, but yearning to be unleashed. She wondered if Hermione’s consciousness was trapped with it. Bella smirked. Perhaps she could take full advantage of these unintended consequences, and help fully uncork the magic.

Pressing their torsos back together again, she slid down Hermione slowly, rubbing down her sides as she went. Hermione’s hands did move then, seeking out the warmth that was traveling south. Bellatrix grabbed them, lacing their fingers together, and slid swiftly back up, kissing her soundly as she pinned the hands behind her head. “I wonder if you can hear me, pet,” she mused, tracing her lips with her tongue. “Leave those naughty hands up here … you’ll know when you can move them.”

Another whine, but Hermione obeyed. Bella was _delighted_ by this strange turn of events.

She kissed her way back down her body, taking a moment to suckle on each pert breast, flicking her nipples to attention, before finally making herself at home between her legs. Winding strong arms around supple thighs, she breathed in her scent, and buried her nose into the juncture of her thigh, nipping just to the right of her sex, then the left. There was already so much wetness here, and Bella lazily traced a finger around her entrance, never dipping inside, taking care not to brush her clit, but cruelly applying pressure all around it. She could feel Hermione’s legs flexing and tensing, evilly reveling in the fact that she could not scold her for teasing.

After a few more moments of this torture of the gentler kind, she finally pressed a kiss just below her sex. She worked her way around, finally deigning to give a tiny kiss to her clit. Hermione’s thighs jerked, and Bella tightened her hold before finally sliding her tongue through velvety folds. An exalted sigh met her ears as she swirled around in her wetness, then finally dipped her tongue inside — once, twice, thrice, going deeper every time. On the fourth time she lingered, swirling around deep inside, savoring the sensation of stroking every soft inner wall.

Hermione was breathing heavily, and she could feel her magic swirling now, the strongest it had been since she came home to her shattered. Bella let her anger at the memory consume her, doubling down on her efforts, sucking the life out of Hermione and breathing it back into her all at once. When she felt the younger witch’s legs begin to shake, she slid out her tongue and smoothly replaced it with her fingers, kissing her way up to her clit and massaging it with her lips. It was then that Hermione gasped in earnest, her hands flying back into Bella’s mane. Bella smirked against her and chanced a glance up, thrilled to see honeyed eyes looking at her once again. “There you are,” she murmured.

“D-don’t you dare stop,” Hermione choked out. Bella chuckled before lowering her head again, happy to oblige.

She kept her pace steady, her tongue and hand working in harmony, a relentless machine of pleasure that made Hermione struggle for air. Bella loved that sound, of her lover caught off-rhythm, never quite able to catch up, unable to do anything but succumb to what Bella gave her.

“Bellatrix….yes…oh, _oh —“_

And then it was done, and Bella greedily drank her reward, relishing the impossible warmth haloing her head. With a few last lingering kisses to the soft, trembling flesh beneath her, she slid tantalizingly up Hermione’s pliant body, licking her essence back into her mouth. “Good morning,”’ she purred.

Hermione laughed breathily, rubbing her eyes. “That was…” she trailed off, smiling dazedly at Bella. “What did you do? I feel so much better.”

Bella hummed, nuzzling into her neck and sliding her fingers back down, gently petting the place they’d just been inside. “Paid a visit to my favorite coffee shop.”

“I—what? Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

A curious, impressed noise, then, one that made Bellatrix preen. “I didn’t think that would work.”’

Bella nipped Hermione’s throat, prompting a delicious twitch. “Wasn’t sure it would.”

“Well,” Hermione huffed. “Thank you for experimenting on me, then.”

“Oh, pet. Everything we do is an experiment.”

She kissed her way back to Hermione’s lips, making the young witch tilt her head back with a satisfied sigh. Then she pulled away, and Hermione’s eyes fluttered open again, gazing up at her with absolute trust and gratitude, with something bordering on adoration.

It was then Bellatrix knew she had to break it.

She withdrew her fingers from between Hermione’s legs so she could cup her face with both hands. Hermione covered her wrists, stroking the thin flesh shielding her pulse, frowning slightly as she sensed the change.

“What you did last night,” Bellatrix began, staring into her eyes even more intensely than usual, “was so unbelievably dangerous.”

Hermione became visibly uncomfortable, torn between rolling her eyes and cowering in shame. “Bella, please. I told you, it’s _done—“_

“ _Listen to me_ ,” she hissed, and Hermione’s jaw snapped shut. “It’s not just dangerous because you pushed yourself. Or even because you got hurt. It is dangerous because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“But it worked!” Hermione protested. “And it was _your_ move! If you can do it, I can too.” She was becoming petulant now, trying to wriggle out of Bella’s grasp now, twisting away so they could have a proper fight. Bella’s gaze this close up was too much to bear; she’d never win.

Bella shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “You don’t understand, Hermione.” The sound of her name made her stop moving, the gravity of Bella’s tone finally hitting her.

“I…” those wide, infuriatingly innocent eyes met hers. “I promise you, it’s finished. Everything’s going to be alright—”

“That is a promise made to children,” Bella sneered, “and people too stupid to know better. You should — you _must —_ know better.”

They stared at each other a few moments more, Bella’s breathing heavy, Hermione beginning to look embarrassed at last. Bella steeled herself for what she was about to do, for what she was about to tell Hermione she was about to do. “You’ve never felt it. Being stripped of your magic. You don’t know what it does to someone…. how far they’ll go to get it back. And what if you find you can’t return it? Need I remind you it has happened before,” she said darkly, speaking quickly, so Hermione could not interrupt. “What then? You’ll get much worse than a beating about the face. You are going to get yourself killed.”

“But if they killed me then they’d never—”

“Do you think they know that?” Bella’s nails were clawing into her face now. “Do you think that, in the moment, they understand that you are the only one who can give it back to them? Of course they don’t. You’re brilliant, but you’re still so naive. You have _no idea_ what you’re playing at.”

There was another long pause as Hermione's gaze flitted between her eyes, equal parts anxious and ashamed.

“Well what do you suggest I do, then?” she finally asked quietly. “I can be more careful. But I can’t just ignore—“

“I know that. I’m not asking you to. But if you are to continue on this path of — of _deranged vigilantism_ ,” she shook her head irritatedly. “Then you need to understand how it feels.”

She watched it click in Hermione’s mind, an eerie threat posed over dinner months before that she was finally making good on.

It had been out of cruelty, when she’d suggested it the first time. Her fondness for Hermione had never completely eclipsed the resentment of what she’d done to her, unintentionally or not. But now, after seeing her so hurt, and her mettle still intact, she knew it was a necessity — not in spite of her affection, but because of it. To lose the girl now, due to her own ignorance, and Bella’s failure to properly prepare her, would be unbearable. No, it was Bella’s interference that had brought her here, and therefore it was Bellatrix who must set her straight.

As Hermione’s eyes darted between hers, it was obvious that she was trying to sort out what to say, or perhaps how to twist her way out of this. It couldn’t be easy, Bellatrix imagined, knowing what was about to come, and offering oneself up anyway. Though she supposed that, if the girl really _loved_ her as she said, none of this could ever be easy for her.

Bellatrix tilted her head as she studied Hermione. What must it be like, to love Bellatrix? She knew what it was like to…feel what she felt for Hermione. It was good and sweet, overwhelmingly so, as if too much of it would make you sick. It was rich and rewarding, moreso than anything Bella probably deserved. It was easy and impossible all at once. Some part of her would always remain suspicious, as if any morning she might wake alone, to find the girl had finally come to her senses and run. Bella wondered how much of these feelings Hermione shared, and how many other things her lover must feel that she herself would never understand. It couldn’t be easy, to love someone like her. Someone capable of doing what she was about to do.

Hermione opened her mouth, her mind clearly still whirring with indecision. “I….suppose you’re not really asking, are you?”

A long, quiet moment passed, before Bella shook her head imperceptibly, then leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. When she pulled back to peer down at her, the girl’s eyes were a bit watery, but not overflowing. Good. Bella couldn’t have gone through with it if she’d broken down. But Hermione didn’t need to know that.

A few more seconds to process, then Hermione slowly nodded, moving up to brush her lips against Bella’s jaw. “Alright, then.”

No follow-up. No questions of “how long” or “will it hurt”. Her tacit acceptance caused Bellatrix even more anguish. She drew in a shaky breath, and brought their faces together once more.

She met excruciatingly little resistance from Hermione, and so it was only a moment before she reappeared in the coffee shop. The cats brushed up against her again and she did her best to ignore them, to push down the thought that any harm might befall them if she did this.

But she did it anyway. It took no time at all.

* * *

The first thing she noticed when she came back to their earthly plane was that she could _absolutely_ feel Hermione’s magic, more strongly than before — not coming from the person in front of her, but within herself, as though it was bottled up in her own chest. An interesting theory, since Hermione had described their original misadventure as accidentally locking up part of Bellatrix inside _Bellatrix_ , not Hermione. But they’d have to revisit the logistics later, for that thought quickly gave way to the very real, human consequence of what she had just done, the shell of a witch lying before her, lips trembling, eyes watering in earnest.

It skewered Bellatrix to see her like this. The pain on her face was so acute, so familiar. She remembered it so well.

“How does it feel?” she asked anyway, knowing the answer.

Hermione blinked slowly, adjusting to the absence. “I…”

Bellatrix reached for the girl’s wand, lying on the nightstand, and pressed it into her hand. “Now,” she urged. “Try.”

Hermione stared pleadingly up at her. “Bella…”

“Go on.” It was cruel, she knew, to twist the knife like this. But she had to understand, had to experience, just once, what it was like: to call on some part of your very self that had always been there, and be met with silence, with an emptiness too vast to even echo.

With shaking hands, Hermione pressed the thin wood to Bella’s sternum, still hovering just above her own.

“What do you plan to do, sweet one?” Bella whispered against her lips. “How will you hurt me now?”

Hermione sniffled, swallowing as she steeled herself. Normally riling her up like this would result in an irritated spark of magic in response. But there was nothing. The magic was completely severed, no longer tied to her emotions whatsoever.

“Oh…” Bella pouted with false sadness. “Unless the little mudblood isn’t worthy of her magic after all.”

It was transparent what she was doing. They knew each other well enough by now. But Hermione needed to understand that even the sort of rage that could inspire accidental magic would no longer be enough.

A few more moments of trying and failing to connect with herself, and Hermione threw her wand to the side. “I can’t, Bellatrix,” she snapped. “Are you satisfied? I can’t do it.”

Immediately, Bellatrix shoved it back into her hand. “You will _try again._ ”

Surprised, Hermione met her gaze, and was reminded of another time, many moons ago, when she threw herself at a wall of impossible magic, over and over again, to give Bellatrix what she wanted, to give her back what she had just stolen in return.

It seemed that, even without magic, the dark witch understood what she was thinking. Her eyes darkened, and she pressed down even further into the body beneath her. “Or do you need me to help you along?” she teased, trailing a hand down her side. “Certainly seemed to work well enough last time…”

Bellatrix half-expected the girl to throw her off, or to finally break down, to beg for her magic back. She did _not_ expect a warm hand to close around her wrist, pulling it back between her legs. Once again, Hermione’s total supplication tore her apart.

Slipping inside her had never felt this way before. There was no burst of magic to greet her, to wrap around hers. In this moment, Hermione was no longer the only witch alive whose magic could withstand and even challenge hers. She was simply a woman. 

It was different, and not what she preferred — but Bellatrix would be lying if she said she didn’t find it incredibly erotic. She studied each small twitch of her lover’s face, relished each little gasp she drew forth from her lips. The only thing that could make her break their eye contact was the hunger to bury her face in the crook of her neck once again.

“You’re supposed to be trying again,” she husked, drawing a yelp as she twisted inside of her.

Hermione shook her head, panting, and let her wand clatter to the floor, which earned her another vicious twist, and earned Bellatrix an elated cry. The dark witch glared at her, even as Hermione’s fingers trembled towards the place between her legs.

“No,” Hermione whispered, her eyes filling up with tears again. “You wanted me like this…you have me.”

Bellatrix’s hand stilled inside her, only jolted back to reality once Hermione pinched her clit. She started up again with desperation, and, bizarrely, felt that stirring in her own chest once more, a pricking at her sinuses. “It’s not about what I — what i _want,_ ” she managed to growl out. “It’s about what you _need —_ “

Smooth legs wrapped around her waist, a gentle hand cupped her face — a sharp contrast to the other hand still working inside her. “What do I need?” Hermione breathed, her hips gyrating up against her. “T-tell me…tell me what I need.”

Another grunt of frustration from Bellatrix. “I already told you. You need _—_ you need to learn, to _understand—“_

“I do,” Hermione said, leaning up to kiss her. Bellatrix tasted the salt of tears; she wasn’t sure whose. “I understand. And all I need … is you.”

Bellatrix felt the tell-tale flutter around her fingers, and knew Hermione was close. She wasn’t be far behind herself. And suddenly the wrongness of it all washed over her, the regret — she didn’t want them to finish like this. She pressed their foreheads together again, and worked as quickly as she could.

* * *

Hermione fell over the edge just as her magic returned. The return of her full self, the extra part of her she wouldn’t have been able to identify until she’d lost it, came flooding into her with full force. That in itself was pleasure enough, but tinged with orgasm, it was overwhelming, and she began to weep. Bellatrix came back to her a moment later, and was immediately all over her, kissing her everywhere she could reach. It reminded Hermione of the last time — or rather, the first time — when she had finally gifted Bella’s magic back to her, and the last thing she felt before she fell asleep was Bella’s kisses on her face.

Bella’s fingers were no longer inside her. They gripped her face, wiping away the tears her lips didn’t erase. “It’s done now,” she whispered between kisses, gazing down at Hermione with her dark eyes, shining more than usual. “All over. No more. It’s done.”

“Bella,” Hermione cried, clinging to her. “Bella. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Bellatrix shook her head, and Hermione swore she felt a droplet on her own face. “No, shh. None of that. It’s done.”

“N-not for tonight,” Hermione explained. “For before. I didn’t mean — oh, god. It feels… it’s horrible.”

Bellatrix rolled to the side, pulled her body against hers. “I know.” She would never apologize in return, and they both knew it.

They lie there together, legs tangled, Bella looping an arm securely around Hermione’s waist, stroking fingers through her sleep-tangled hair. She stared at the ceiling and enjoyed the feeling of breath evening out against her tear-soaked neck. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt Hermione murmur, against her skin, three words that were not easier to hear a second time.

She only froze for a moment. Hermione didn’t seem to notice. She gave her love to Bella so freely, without fear of rejection or reciprocation, though Bella knew she felt such fear; after all, she had admitted it. And yet she gave it anyway.

Bella tilted Hermione’s head back. Her eyes fluttered as she hovered on the cusp of sleep. She let the backs of her fingers graze her cheek. She knew she couldn’t echo those words back to her; not now, maybe not ever. She could not say aloud that she loved Hermione, not even to herself.

But she protected her. She healed her wounds. She held her as she cried, rocked her, hummed her to sleep. Even the thieving of her magic was an act of devotion, as fierce as making love to her.

Whatever this was, whatever strange magic had wormed its way into Bellatrix’s heart — she knew it would live there forever.

Bellatrix leant in, pressed her lips to Hermione’s forehead. She was rewarded with a sleepy sigh and a body nuzzling back into her. She wrapped her arms around her tightly, and closed her own eyes with a sigh and a smile.

The last thought she had was how happy she was that the cats were alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Love Zarrene's work so much. Such an incredible writer, really hope they post again soon!!


End file.
